


Can you feel my heart?

by ormache



Category: Harringrove - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-12-17 18:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ormache/pseuds/ormache
Summary: Post season 3, Billy wakes thousands of miles from Hawkins. With everyone in Hawkins thinking he's dead - and Billy mostly wishing it were true - he can't imagine ever going back to the place that was never really home.





	1. When something's in your mitochondrial 'cause it latched on to you, like... Knock knock, let the devil in

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't published any writing in a long, long fucking time. I got sick of procrastinating, and a meme of Carrie Fisher told me today was the day to go for it. I hope someone out there enjoys it.

"Быстро" (_quickly_) the word is faint and nonsensical. Filtering through the screeching residual tinnitus, the slow thump of a pulse penetrating his skull. Billy tries to cling to the yelling that he's pretty sure is the only sound not in his own head. It vaguely occurs to him that a pulse and outside sounds means he's not dead. Yet. Beyond disorientated trying to scramble for a thought or physical command that's his own, for a horrifying moment he thinks he's still got that _thing_ in him. A sob tries to climb from his chest but dies, he barely has the strength to breathe. Is he breathing? Not for long, as his body falls and hits something hard, knocking the wind from him. He hadn't realised he wasn't already on the ground to begin with, his brain fighting to process this new development whilst his body fights to choke in air desperately. Something crawls in his chest and he thinks he's going to hurl, can you hurl if you can't breathe? The unmistakable clench of his whole body as something thick and slimy ebbs from his mouth supplies that evidently yeah, you can. 

"Он жив! Он жив!" (_he's alive_) Suddenly something is touching him, shoving him over gracelessly onto his side and thumping between his shoulder blades. His brain goes offline just as he feels that first tiny pull of air into his lungs. 

"What's that black shit he's coughing up? Don't get it on you!" Dmitri had only been in Hawkins for a day, and already he's heading back for Russia. The corpse he thought he was squirreling away for research suddenly very much, or at least, vaguely, alive. "Try and get it all out of him, alive is more value!" He yells to Nikolai, the young guard braying on the back of the would-be corpse laid on the floor of the panel van. By the time they come to a stop at an air base in Upland, Grant County, Billy is pale but he's breathing steadily. The heaving gunk stopped spilling out a while back. The minute they pull up, more guards scramble to help Nikolai manoeuvre Billy onto a waiting small cargo plane. Tasked with guarding Billy for the flight, they tell him the Dr will meet them when they land. If he survives that long. 

As the plane touches down, Billy is startled by a jump that felt as if he'd fallen off a cliff. His brain jolting back online and screaming at him to open. His. Eyes. His weak body refuses to obey and his thoughts are drowned back out almost instantly into darkness. Just as well, if he'd seen the dead eyed giant waiting by an unmarked ambulance for him on the air strip he might well have pissed his pants. Undoubtedly so if he'd seen all of the needles they were about to shove into his veins; Billy had always been terrified of needles. Had almost had to beg the artist to stop working on his tattoo, instead settling midway for the tiny skull on his bicep, opting to leave out the much larger design that should have surrounded it, under the guise of going for a smoke and bolting from the parlour. 

A far cry from an operating theatre, the medical suite located in the imposing Russian facility was a small room of piercing bright light. It had Billy scrunching his already closed eyes even tighter as his trolley was wheeled to a halt. The Dr made quick work of cutting off all of Billy's clothes, the harsh cold of a wet flannel wiping away the traces of black. The sedatives and painkillers being pumped into his veins working to keep him still, even as the Dr worked over the wounds on his abdomen. Yet another needle his next tool of choice as he began to stitch them closed. Not a man known for being gentle, Dr Rutger Bakker was at least meticulous in his neatness, Billy's wounds pulling together in smart seams. Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, Nikolai hands him a pristine white linen sheet to cover Billy's body. "Goed gedaan, dokter." (_good work, doctor_) He offers in rudimentary Dutch, with a smile. Yes, good work indeed he thinks. A curt nod to Nikolai as he leaves. 

They leave Billy sedated for several days, allowing his body to recover somewhat from the trauma it had endured at Starcourt. It had been silently agreed that Nikolai was to be his full time guardian, for reasons no one including Nikolai was really sure of. It was ultimately on his call that they decided it was time to start bringing Billy round. Midday on a bright Wednesday afternoon - because who wants to be roused from a coma on a Monday morning? Billy first starts to stir. Nikolai isn't quite sure what he was expecting, but the gasping panic and thrashing wasn't it. Dr Rutger approaches with another drip, needle poised ready to put Billy under again and Nikolai notes Billy gets more distressed. 

"No, no, no!" He pleads hoarsely glaring at the needle, pulling his arm up across his chest and clawing at the fluid drip still hooked up to his right arm. 

"Wacht!" (_wait_) Nikolai barks to Bakker, not paying him enough attention to tell if the doctor was displeased at being given orders from a subordinate. 

Nikolai approaches Billy, measured slow steps and hands raised slightly to hopefully convey a lack of threat. The rifle strapped to his back probably negating his efforts substantially. 

"You fear the needles?" He asks, Billy glaring up at him with wide eyes. He doesn't speak but he stills, the fingers grappling at his cannula retreating to clutch his side defensively. Nikolai points to the IV bag. "Fluids. Will you drink?" He clocks the small tear pooling in the corner of Billy's eye as he gives the smallest of nods. 

"De jongen is versteend." (_the boy is petrified_) He looks to Bakker. "Remove the needles." He finishes in English, for Billy's benefit. 

Bakkers lack of gentleness is evident as he all but rips the cannula from Billy's arm. "You need nothing more of me. Get out of my surgery." Bakker slams the discarded IV into a metal bin with a clatter, marching from the room presumably leaving Nikolai to figure out what the fuck he's meant to do with Billy before he returns. 

The corridors seem inordinately long when you're wheeling a gurney with a traumatised mute to a cell. Nikolai couldn't find the words to explain what was happening in a way that didn't make it seem terrifying, so he decided to tell him nothing. Mercifully everywhere is quiet. They arrive at the open red door of the cells closest to Nikolai's sleeping quarters. 

"You can stand?" He asks Billy, who looks as weak as a lamb, and wonders not for the first time if he should have ignored Dmitry and just let Billy choke peacefully on the floor of that van back in Indiana. 

Billy attempts to get up and almost rolls straight off the side of the gurney. Nikolai lunges forward and holds him up, pulling the paltry sheet preserving his dignity back up around his waist. 

"Here" he places Billy's hand around the edge of the sheet. "You hold. I move." 

Billy's knuckles go white with the effort of clinging to his sheet, as Nikolai puts an arm under his shoulders and hoists him to his feet. He's a good foot taller than Billy, and thinks it would probably have been easier to just lift him clean up and carry him to the bed in the cell. Instead he crouches low enough to guide him like a drunk, stumbling on weak legs through the door to the camp bed in the corner. At least it has a mattress and clean sheets. 

As they reach the bed he pulls the covers back, easing his hold to allow Billy to pour himself between the sheets. He curls into a foetal knot facing the wall, pulling the sheet in his hands up to his chest like a security blanket, his grip getting harder still. 

"I'll bring water." Nikolai says as he retreats from the room, turning the lock with a pull in his chest as the gentle shaking of Billy's shoulders begins. 

The sobs are silent and painful, it hurts deep in Billy's chest in a way that he feels like screaming should help but no sound can come out. He doesn't understand. Where he is, who these people are. Why is he alive? How is he alive? What are these people going to do to him? Every inch of his body is pain and his brain is making up for fuck knows how many days of lost time by firing as many thoughts at him as it can. 

Nikolai knows he needs to tell the officers about Billy being awake and in a cell, he'd think Bakker had already if it wasn't for the fact that Bakker rarely speaks at all if he can get away with it. It's delaying the inevitable, but he feels bad for Billy. The guy could do with a bit of time to come round before the interrogation begins. He fills two glasses with water, doubts he can stomach any food yet so doesn't bother with any. He grabs a clean set of civilian overalls from stores before heading back to the cell, can't leave the poor bastard naked. 

Billy hears him slip in the door quietly. He should probably be embarrassed, the countless other times he's sobbed curled up in bed he's been alone. He hears the gentle clink of glasses against the small shelf that must exist somewhere in here. He hasn't brought himself to look around the room yet. He expects the next sound he hears to be the turn of the lock again as the mystery guy let's himself back out. 

"I am Nikolai. I will not hurt you. You should drink, if you want no more needles." He speaks quietly, and calmly as if speaking to a spooked child. Billy hasn't looked at him long enough to work out how old he is, if he's an old guy Billy supposes a spooked child is what he is. It's a jarring thought, it takes him back to the scared kid he's been hiding inside himself, all this time he's been trying to be perceived as a real man. _Don't look much like a real man now_ a twisted thought in his dad's voice makes him wince. 

Billy slows his breathing, slow calculated movements get him onto his back. He reluctantly lessens the grip on his sheet and uses his hands to push himself up against the meagre pillow and wall into a semi seated position. His face feels tight with drying tears so he uses the back of his hand to scrub ineffectually at his eyes. 

The guard - Nikolai, Billy's mind supplies, hastily approaches and hands him one of the water glasses. Billy dares to look in his eyes for more than a second. He's young, probably not that much older than Billy himself. Eyes a soft brown that make him look kinder than someone sporting a fucking huge gun should. 

Billy sips as Nikolai stands by the bed. His stomach growls at the shock of having contents and Billy tries to suppress the urge to hurl. Wincing as he sips down as much as he can handle he glances back to Nikolai. 

"B...Billy" he manages to croak out, his voice barely more than a whisper and disconnected from one he recognises as his own. 

Nikolai smiles which Billy thinks is probably odd. "I am the one here who will take care of you, Billy. I save you, when we found you. We thought you were dead. But I," he stops, thinking for a moment. "I save you. I will guard, when they want to talk with you. You can be safe." 

Billy has no idea what he is meant to say to that. Who wants to talk to him? Where the hell even is he? He should probably be voicing these questions but all of his strength is going towards not throwing up or crying again. He raises a hand to run through his hair, pulling it away sharply when he's met with nothing more than a light fuzz at his fingertips. Nikolai responds to the startled expression on Billy's face. 

"Yes your hair, was blood. So full of blood. Slime. Bakker, he shaved it when he mended you." He gestures towards Billy's neatly healing abdomen. Without a doubt he's going to be left with scars, but at least they're not as gnarly as they could have been. 

Nikolai reaches for the glass and heads for the door hastily." You rest." Billy is perplexed by his sudden exit as the key turns yet again. It had almost been nice having someone actually try and talk to him. Reassuring. 

Nikolai washed up the glass before an officer can pull him up for not maintaining order. Giving his shared quarters a cursory check to make sure he's alone, he heads for the desk and the phone, punching in the number; 618-625-8313. 

The phone picks up but no one speaks, as expected.

"This is Nikolai Rominov, Mr Bauman. I have some information for you. We have someone." 

"Hopper? Jim hopper?" Murray's voice elevates with hope and disbelief. 

"I'm sorry no, Mr Bauman. Billy. His name is Billy."


	2. Yes there's alot, we can learn from this loss

Ever one to keep up appearances, Neil Hargrove insists that he and Susan must keep to their regular date night. Max has hardly left her room, let alone the house, so they allow her to forgo needing a baby sitter. A bowl of untouched pasta sits on the counter top awaiting her attention but the thought of eating it rolls her guts. 

The door to Billy's room opens with a groan, months of being slammed doing a number on the old hinges. It smells so strongly of him, Max's face scrunches with the effort to not break down and sob right there on the ground. She knows this will be her last chance to come in here and see it as it is, sure the furniture will probably stay but everything that made it Billy's is earmarked for either Goodwill or the trash. All traces of who he was, gone like he meant nothing. She heads for the vanity, his aftershave an easy steal. At least she won't forget him. A Metallica shirt, an intricately engraved flick knife and his long silver earring. She takes her little horde and sits on the bed, almost impossible for her to get her head around the fact that Billy will never be on it again. Never laid out shirtless smoking when he was in one of his good moods. Never curled in on himself crying when he thought Max couldn't hear him through the wall.

She places his things on the bed beside her. Her fingers find themselves dancing along the edge of the bedside cabinet. She knows this drawer holds those gross dirty magazines. Should she throw them out before Susan finds them? She gingerly pulls the drawer open and grabs them. Giving them a cursory flick as she lifts them, something falls to the ground. It's folded into quarters, a torn page from a magazine. 

Unfolding the picture, Max feels like she should be more surprised. Some slim olive skinned guy advertising Calvin Klein underpants looks back at her from the creased page. She thinks back to the days in California, back before Billy was as sad and angry as he'd been in Hawkins. She'd caught the looks he gave other guys at the beach when he thought no one was watching. There was a spark in his eyes that never appeared when he was going through the motions with any of the girls that looked his way. She had been close to trying to talk to him about it, but then he started bringing girls into his room and she figured she'd been reading him wrong. 

_I knew it_ she thought dejectedly to herself now. It was a sad realisation that he'd never get to know that she'd seen, she'd known and it was OK. There was always going to be this little piece of him that the world didn't know about, tucked away safely behind his safe facade of endless good looking women.

The thought of him having maybe never getting the chance to experience something meaningful with someone he was actually interested in cut Max up in a weird way she couldn't get her head around. Lucas drove her crazy sometimes but at least she had those moments of happiness. That rush of feelings knowing someone feels the same way you do, the anticipation of a first kiss. 

It occurs to Max that it's probably not normal to be getting so deep and emotional clutching your dead brothers collection of dirty magazines. She steps off the bed and shoves the folded cutting into her jeans pocket. The rest of the magazines she grabs in her arms and marches out front to throw in old Mr Taylor's trash. 

She takes her little collection of Billy memorabilia and places it in her top drawer gently. The cutting she shoves between the pages of her Pet Semetary novel, trying not to think too deeply about why she's holding onto it. It feels too real to just let go of, she supposes. Billy spent his whole life thinking he was worthless, Max heard the names Neil called him, there's no doubt in her mind that this was one of the reasons why. She couldn't go and throw her only real piece of that side of Billy in the trash like he no doubt thought he deserved. 

Max falls asleep before Susan and Neil return, her cold pasta gelatinous and untouched still on the counter. Susan pops her head in to check on her before going to bed - if she notices Max has fallen asleep in Billy's shirt she doesn't bring it up the next morning. 

The days are always long as shit in Hawkins, more so when the town is still reeling. The old women gossip about what the local paper says and how it holds up against what they heard in the aisles of the store. Kids who were unaffected now lash out against curfews set by newly over protective parents. Those who were involved directly still struggling to slot back into a vaguely normal day to day life. Nothing to say to anyone but an anger that no one even tries to speak. 

The gates to the junk yard are held closed with a chain and big ass padlock. Just enough give to allow a skinny teen through the gap. Paulo the doberman is anyone's for an oatmeal cookie, sniffing eagerly at Max's hand as she passes him a second. Security isn't exactly of number one concern around Hawkins, even in the wake of the shit that's gone down. The summer allows enough light for max to find her way to the newest wrecks with ease, despite the hour. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees it, Billy's camaro all smashed up and grimy from the dust in the yard. 

She approaches cautiously, a welling of emotion catching her off guard. Billy loved this car. Sometimes she'd hated it. The growl from under the hood as he floored it like a maniac. It had always felt dangerous to her, the reckless way he would tear around town. She supposes now, it was actually the only danger he had any control over. If he spun out and died in a ditch at least it would've been on his terms, not at the hands of his slimy deadbeat dad or that evil humanoid scum he'd saved El from. Its bittersweet, that the most she has ever understood Billy comes too late to matter. 

She reaches into the pocket of her duffel coat as she draws near, the icy cold steel of the blade against her fingertips as she toys with it. She's not sure what the deal is with the engraving on the blade, some tiny twirling writing in a language she doesn't know. She wishes she had the means to salvage the whole car. The guts to have stood up to Neil and made him keep it. The money and the know how to restore it to the glory it once held as the only thing Billy gave a shit about. A tear threatens to escape as she paws the scratched blue paint. The badge is what she came for, and she's happy to see it still intact rather than prised off to flip at a yard sale. It comes away easier than she'd expected, the knife slipping beneath it creating easy leverage. 

Dusk is starting to roll in, and she knows she needs to go. Slowly she allows herself a stroll around the perimeter, her fingers feeling the rough indentations beneath. As she reaches what used to be Billy's driver side door, she balks at the sight of blood. Black, tarry stains on everything he had touched. The window is smashed and the glove compartment is contorted from impact. She can see some of his cassette tapes, a folded piece of paper lays nestled between them. These tiny pieces of Billy folded up and tucked away in places unseen, it makes her heart hurt for him all over again. Cautiously she reaches in to retrieve it, not sure what she's expecting. It's probably a folded math sheet, shoved in there from a detention. It takes some careful manoeuvring to get it without touching any of the blood and black remnants of slime. Plucking it out she opens it right out, the page is mostly blank. Handwritten in the centre it simply says "parents out of town, come over tonight - Steve X". Now that, that suddenly makes alot of sense. For a time they'd seemed close, friends even. And then out of the blue for whatever reason, Steve was never around and Billy was flirting with every housewife in town. She jumps as something touches her back, sending Paulo skirting back a step, ears drawn back in confusion. 

"Sorry boy, you scared the shit out of me." She pulls the last cookie from her pocket and allows herself a quick rub of his shining fur before slipping away and back through the gates. She can't bring herself to look back at the wreck as she goes.


	3. The more I touch, the less I feel - I'm lying to myself that it's not real

Billy has no idea how much time has passed. He has no one to ask seeing as the half decent guard who brought him in hasn't been around for a while. The others are nowhere near even civil. A glass of water and dry bread slammed onto his shelf at dawn with a new toilet roll, a multitude of grotty fish and potato dishes over the days at what he assumes to be lunch. Some sort of stew and more water at presumed evening. There is no natural light and besides Nikolai not one of them has spoken to him. The Dutch doctor death speaks intermittently to demand answers he hasn't got about shit he still can't get his head around. He shows up in Billy's room to draw vials of blood and reshave his head while guards twice Billy's size hold him down, smiling menacingly as he screamed and begged them to stop. 

The clang of a key in the door takes him by surprise. It shouldn't be time for food, bile rises in his throat as he braces himself with futility for more needles. Two of the giant guards are standing by the door. The one in front motions for Billy to exit the cell, and fear drops in his guts like lead. Slamming the cell door behind him, the bigger of the guards follows behind him, shoving at his shoulder to keep pace with the guard leading the way. Along the long darkened coridoor they march, to an elevator. Billy can't be sure but he thinks they go down. Wordlessly, they push him through the doors of the elevator into another expansive, harshly lit white room. A single chair sits in front of a window that stretches the entire width of the room, darkness shrouding whatever lays on the other side. 

Dutch harbinger of doom enters through a side door, a clipboard in his hand. 

"готовы" (_ready?_) The giant guard asks in his direction. 

"Klaar." (_ready_) 

Billy wishes he had any fucking clue what they were saying. Beats of silence follow, all eyes on Billy. The flick of a light in the opposing room takes him by surprise and his heart leaps like a startled rabbit. Fight or flight is fluttering under the surface of his skin, every cell in his body vibrating with fear of the unknown. For a beat he thinks the room is empty. When the thing leaps to its feet, looking directly at him and face opening like some kind of evil mutant flower he turns to run. His body is instantly met with the resistance of a guard behind him, who places hands on his shoulders, fingers biting into the flesh deep enough to bruise as a wicked grin curls at the corner of his lips and he turns Billy back around to face the window. 

He makes out the Dr scrawling notes as he scrunches his eyes closed, fists clenched and sweat beading his palms. He feels the guard bring his face down close to his ear, whispering in heavily accented English. 

"Open your eyes sunshine, you're going to miss the best part." 

Billy scrunches his face even tighter, as he hears the metal clang of a door and the fearful screams of another person in the room opposite. Inhuman noises screech from the beast, a bang like a firework as it slams into a wall devouring what lay before it. This time the guard doesn't intervene when Billy tries to run, but his legs give out and he crumples to the ground on a scream of his own. 

The guards lift him, one flanking each side with a grip under his arms and all but carry him back to his cell. Once they slam the door he resumes his place on the ground, sobbing into his knees pulled tight into his chest. 

He can't bring himself to eat that evenings slop when it arrives, or so called breakfast the next morning. His head a carousel of fear, memories and a half baked fantasy about taking a guard out and escaping.


	4. My skin will scream reminding me of who I killed inside my dream

Steve flings back the covers with resigned apathy. The insomnia was bad before, but in the weeks since Starcourt he counts a long blink as a good rest. A cursory glance at his alarm clock tells him it's 4.27am. He's mercifully working the graveyard shift to cover for Robin's big date, so he doesn't have to worry about work for what seems like an age. Creeping around so as not to wake his mother, he heads to the kitchen for a smoke and the first of what will be many, many coffees. 

It's still weird having his Mom home. She rocked up as the dust was settling and decreed that she needed to spend more time with her baby, to look out for him. His dad felt no such proclivities and chose to remain in Seattle hosting his bullshit corporate evenings with men he claimed to hate to be around, yet seemingly not so much as his own son. 

At least tonight there had been no nightmares, Steve thought to himself as he lit up his cigarette while the coffee brewed. A small mercy these days, one he certainly doesn't take for granted given the macabre shit show his brain chooses to play for him in those seldom hours he actually gets to sleep. 

"Morning baby boy..." His Mom coos gently from the kitchen doorway. Evidently she is better at this creeping lark than Steve and he'd woken her after all. Gentle as she was, Steve still startles with an embarrassing jump. 

"Sorry sweetpea, I didn't mean to frighten you." The gentle cooing still lacing her voice. She was very full of overly gentle talk and pet names since she'd come back, seemingly her brain thinks she can pick up where she left off the last time she tried to have any real kind of relationship with him, some time when Steve was around 9. 

Steve wishes he could be more mad about it, but he can't help that little 9 year old inside of him that has missed feeling like she gave a shit all these years. Emotionally regressing to a child seems about right, he laments. His final transition into being 100% pathetic.

"Coffee?" He gestures with the pot, at a loss for anything else to say. 

"Please honey" she grins, "so why are you up at this hour? I've never known you to be an early bird." 

Steve shrugged, ambling to her with the dainty China cup she's always insisted on using. 

"Couldn't get back to sleep, know better than to waste time trying." That earns him a look of fleeting concern but she says nothing. "You got any plans today?" 

She sips from the mug with such forced grace you'd think she'd been to finishing school. Hell for all he knows his dad probably had her take etiquette classes before allowing her around his business associates. 

"Not a thing, do you feel like keeping me company? We could go out, have brunch, when are you at work?" 

"Not until 4. Covering for Robin, she has a date. Brunch sounds good." 

Steve couldn't remember sharing a meal out that wasn't a quick burger with Robin, or occasionally Tommy if they happened to cross paths in the diner. 

"A date, how lovely!" She beams. Sipping from her coffee she casts another meaningful look at Steve, this time however she does say something. "You don't date anymore?" She poses it like a question but doesn't wait for an answer. "I've been home a while now and you've not been on a single date. You always had a girl around before." 

Her head is cocked to the side as if she's merely interested as opposed to prying, it kind of sets Steve on edge. 

"Before what, Mom? Before Nancy left me and I slid down the social ladder quicker than shit from a shovel? Or before I left school with pretty much no friends? Before half the town got wiped out in the ?" 

"OK, OK! I'm sorry, I'm being thoughtless. I just don't want you resigning yourself to work and moping around the house, you're so young honey you should be out living. Finding company with someone that's not your Mom." 

"Jeez, thanks Mom. If you didn't want to go to brunch with me why ask?" Steve clatters his own mug into the sink with a frustration he thinks is pretty restrained, considering. 

"Sweetie you know that's not what I mean. Of course I want to go with you, you're my baby. I just worry about you. Forget I said anything. I'll wash up, you go take a long shower. To hell with brunch, let's go out early. Breakfast brunch and lunch. I'm not taking no for an answer, go make yourself pretty darling."

Steve puffs out a breath and tries not to think about his mom addressing him like he's a young damsel in a 1920s movie. Darling. Seriously? 

His Mom insisted on driving, today was all about taking care of Steve she had decreed. They travelled almost an hour, to a town Steve wasn't familiar with. They mustn't have a basketball team, he thinks to himself, those are about the only towns within 300 miles he hasn't been to. 

The diner is small and clean, the lights noticeably gentle compared to the harsh bright ones at home. It's winter and still not quite fully light out, a thick fog keeping it dim. Pancakes and coffee, bacon and syrup for him, blueberry and low fat whipped cream for his mom. He can't remember the last time she allowed herself to have cream. Today was going to be weird, he could tell. 

They took their time eating but didn't stick around. Back on the road and no idea where they were heading, he didn't realise he'd fallen asleep in the car like a damn toddler until they rolled to a stop. A sign out front of the car said Lake Monroe. Blinking a few times and looking beyond, Steve saw that indeed they were at a lake. A big ass lake. Hell, it was like an ocean compared to what they had in Hawkins. 

"You talk in your sleep." His Mom offers with a wry grin. Oh fuck. His insides churn wondering what the hell he could have been saying. He stretches in his seat, somewhat cat like, all lithe body and long limbs. 

"Didn't even realise I was falling asleep. Did I say anything profound? Offer up dark government secrets?" He's only half joking. 

"Government secrets? No honey of course not!" His Mom chuckles and opens her door. "Only your own." She says on a wink as she hops from the car. 

Steve sits for a moment, reeling at whether he had in fact mumbled fuck knows what or if his Mom was winding him up. 

He drags himself from the car and follows his mom's lead to the water. It's a beautiful spot and Steve wonders why his mom's brought him here on a random Thursday morning. His long legs catch him up to her easily and he's met with a smile when he does. 

"Your father proposed to me here, eighteen years ago. He was already doing well with the business, making a name for himself. I was just about to graduate. No one knew we'd been together, it was never meant to be a big deal. But then..." she turns to Steve and checks his cheek playfully. "You popped into the picture. This hazy line on a dollar store pregnancy test I took in the bathroom of Ted's diner. Your dad, he straight away said that we had to do right. Keep up appearances. He was older, an up and coming figure around town, he couldn't have a scandal about knocking up some girl just out of high school. So we drove out here and he proposed. We got married a few weeks later, time being somewhat of the essence. He set up his second office in Michigan and moved me into a house out there. That's where you were born. For the first few years of your life it was the two of us, your dad splitting his time between the offices but hardly around even when we were all together. We bought the house in Hawkins and moved back when you were two. Enough time had passed that no one really paid mind to the semantics of our age and our shotgun wedding. Your father was a big shot, we lived in the smart part of town now so no one would dare bring it up anyhow."

Steve pulled out a cigarette, offered one to his mom too. Taking a long drag he asked "why are you telling me all this?"

"I don't know exactly. It just feels like something you should know. We all have our secrets sweetpea, but with the right people-" she takes a long drag on her own cigarette and turns her face back to Steve. "With the right people, it's safe to share them." 

Steve mulls it over for a second, memories threatening to force themselves from the dark recesses of his mind. Exploring hands. Warm breaths on the skin of his neck. Gentle moans that had no business sounding so soft coming from someone so rough. His heart physically hurts as long eyelashes closing over ocean blue eyes flashes through his mind, shoved away only by memories buried even deeper. Shouting, shoving, hot tears threatening to fall from those same lashes. The twisted crunch of metal on metal and the feeling of sickness that churned up at the recollection of knowing he'd left Billy to die. 

Steve feels like does a good job of not giving in to the pain and sickness washing over him. He's vaguely aware that his mom is waiting for him to say something. 

"Don't worry about me, Mom. These days the only secrets I can spill are which video tapes Mrs Dunleavy rents on a late Friday night. No shotgun weddings and teenage pregnancy for me." He has no idea what he said in his sleep so his mom could be more than aware that he's intentionally barking up the wrong tree with the potential pregnancy and wedding line. He'd like to think he's not stupid enough to have been talking about Billy in his sleep, fuck he can't even bring himself to say his name when he's awake. 

They stand in silence, taking in the view for a while longer. Lunch is at a restaurant not far from the lake. His mom leads most of the conversation with anecdotes about the drunken shenanigans of the people she knows from Seattle. Steve is grateful that she doesn't try to pry anything from him for the rest of their day, and by the time she's dropping him off at the store for his shift he's very nearly got Billy back in the repressed vault of his mind.


	5. Did you hear the thunder, or the rain? Means I'm coming home again.

When his next meal arrives, he doesn't bother to look up. He flinches when a hand lands on his shoulder, at first he expects it to grip him tight and drag him out of bed, but the touch is light and gentle. 

"Billy?" The realisation that it's Nikolai has Billy wanting to cry all over again from relief alone. How fucking pathetic is that? He'd known the guy for a few weeks. Still, in this hell hole he was the only one as yet to even treat Billy like a person. 

"Billy? I have a plan. I've brought someone to see you. He will help."

Billy rolls slowly to face Nikolai and his mystery guest. A balding guy with glasses stood in an identical uniform, but Billy is taken aback when he speaks and out comes a softly spoken American accent. 

"Hey, kid. I'm Murray. Murray Bauman. Feel special, I don't give out my name to just anyone. Nikolai here is the brother of a man I came to know and care for, a sweet and ingenious man by the name of Alexei."

This is far too much information for Billy to try and wrap his head around, he blinks up at this Murray and tries not to feel ungrateful that he doesn't exactly look like a great saviour capable of dragging Billy out of this hell. 

"He had called me to say he was safe, and gave me Mr Baumans telephone contact number. It was Mr Bauman here who told me he had sadly been killed. This is why I have been gone. We worked together, I went back to the States to bring Alexei home. Mr Bauman knows of people you know. We will get you out of here. Somehow."

Billy doesn't miss the not too confident look that passes between the two at that, but his head is reeling. Hope. He'd learned long ago not to let himself get carried away with something as fickle as hope. 

Nikolai and Murray slip out soon after to keep up appearances of doing their job, Murray had smuggled in a packet of redvines as means of familiarity. An odd gesture but Billy was surprisingly comforted. 

Billy is tossing and turning restlessly in bed when the door opens, Nikolai approaching with a cautious smile. 

"We think we have a plan. It is late and you must come now." 

"Already?" Billy splutters, he's eager for freedom but things are moving so fast, what kind of proper plan can be thought up an executed so quickly? No good one, he's sure. 

"I know what you think. It's soon, yes but Murray and I we have talked of this for many days while we travelled. We all leave together. We bury Alexei already, in my town where he belongs. One day when it is safe, I will come home. But tonight, is not safe. We go."

Billy grabs his dismal grey overalls and hops into them, adrenaline beginning to course through his veins. They slip out of the door together and find Murray waiting at the end of the corridor keeping watch, an extra pair of boots by his feet. 

"Lace quickly sunshine, we've got to move." He addresses Billy as he begins his quick lead through the never ending corridors. Billy laces his boots as fast as he can, a skill he's attuned under the pressure of his dad looming over him with a belt snarling at him to get a move on. They're a little big, Billy thinking not for the first time how much smaller he is than every other person he's met here. 

Avoiding the noise of the elevators they slip through the stair well, ascending several floors until a row of windows signals that they have finally reached actual ground level. Billy's stomach flops at the though of how deep underground he'd been, claustrophobia prickling his skin despite the fact that he was very much above ground now. 

"Two of the guards, they wanted to feed you to that beast tonight" Murray begins as they push along the corridor. Billy tries to get a look out of the windows but he can barely see shit. "This is why why we must go now, it's only a matter of time before they say fuck it and throw you in."

Billy doesn't even want to let that thought hang in his mind for a second, he can't handle it and he needs to focus on trying to get the fuck out. 

"They have been using you. Your blood. Mixing it up, separating it, heating it, freezing it, putting it in other prisoners, to see if they can harness what was in you that kept you alive. No one knows how or why you are alive." Nikolai supplies.

Ironic, really, considering how many times Billy thought he might die, that he'd somehow have some inhuman ability to survive. 

They come to a heavy metal door, with a key code and a deadbolt that Nikolai makes quick work of. Billy is more than a little shocked when the door opens to reveal that it really is the outside world, or what he assumes to be the outside world beyond the floodlit scrub of grass he could see leading out into an inky black horizon before him. 

"Are you shitting me, it can't be this easy." He laments, sickened at the thought that he could have made a break for it days ago and tried to get out. Momentarily choosing to forget that he was either locked up or flanked my heavily armed guards for the entirety of his stay. 

"Oh this bit is absolutely that easy. Getting in and drugging all of the other duty guards tonight - that was the hard part. You're welcome." Murray licks out with a dose of sarcasm.

***

The passport looks surprisingly legit. Admittedly Billy has never had a real passport. He was surprised to learn they would be flying on a regular flight, from a regular airport. He's pretty fucking certain that's not how he arrived. Murray and Nikolai had their own fake documents, a rudimentary step that probably wouldn't do shit to stop the rest of these Russian assholes finding out exactly who they were and where they travelled, but for now time is on their side and they're aboard the 5.45 am flight to Delaware. 

Billy had asked why Delaware and it had transpired it was pretty much the first flight out of Russia to a state that wouldn't immediately lead anyone looking for them right back to where they were headed. A Greyhound coach would take them to the last stop outside Illinois where Murray had a car waiting. 

Billy wasn't sure if he was relieved or scared not to be headed back to Hawkins. He fucking hated that place, it brought about the very worst days of his life, and considering shit he'd gone through with his dad back in Cali when his mom left, that was some feat. Hate is as much as he did, it was still home. Max was there. Steve was there. The bodies of all those people you helped kill are there too the voice in his head spits with vitriol. 

Billy visibly winces, the past few weeks had been mind twistingly scary, he had blank holes of alot of it but he still remembered. The looks in their eyes, the screams, the feeling of utter helplessness as the fight against that evil thing took hold of him. 

Murray slapped down a miniature bottle of vodka onto Billy's lap tray. He's not sure how long they've been flying, time goes so fucking slowly when you've got no idea what the hell is going on. He's not entirely sure how long it's been since he's had alcohol, but he swipes the bottle up gratefully, remembering well all those times he'd already used it to numb the pain. A broken rib here, cracked orbital there. The never ending crushing anguish of his own head. 

"Attaboy" Murray observes as Billy chucks it back in one. He grabs another 2 from his pocket, motions to Billy for them to clink like they're making a toast and they sink their second in unison. Nikolai had been sleeping for a while, the lucky bastard. A scratchy blanket from the overhead locker bundled against the plane window as a pillow, Billy found himself looking properly at his face. Taking in the features of this guy who had risked fucking everything to help out some random shithouse American kid. He'd probably have a bit of a crush, were circumstances wildly different. Billy's not entirely sure he's capable of feeling anything but anguish anymore, those days where his biggest plot would be a convoluted excuse to get a touch of Harrington's skin feel like a different world. Billy closes his eyes and tries to shut his brain up, the faint recollection of Steve ploughing a car into Billy's side swimming into focus. He feels the stinging behind his eyelids and fumbles with his hands in his lap, systematically picking at the skin around his nails and jiggling his leg to keep from crying yet a fucking gain.


	6. Eavesdropping

The phone rings out, as expected. What Joyce doesn't expect, is the message when it does. 

"Hi, you have reached the residence of Murray Bauman. Mom, if this is you, please hang up and call me between the hours of 5 and 6pm as previously discussed, ok?

If this is Joyce, Joyce, thank you for calling, I have been trying to reach you. I have an update. It's about, well, it's probably best if we speak in person. It's not good or bad, but it's something."

Joyce nestles the phone back in the cradle. Not good or bad, what the hell does that even mean? 

***

"Billy, as in Billy Hargrove Billy?" Joyce demands down the phone in a hushed tone. Will and Elle are sleeping but she's still constantly prepared for one of them to manifest their abilities and hear her. "As in the Billy Hargrove that died saving El?" 

"Well, yes and no." Murray responds. "Yes, that Billy Hargrove, and no - he in fact did not die saving El. He is very much alive, and very much on my couch." 

"I need to call his sister. She deserves to know as quickly as possible. How is, is he... You know..." 

"He's not _too_ fucked up, all things considered. I mean, he's pretty much silent and his eyes have that haunted look of pain, but physically he's not in such a bad way. Nikolai - the guard who has been taking care of him out in Russia, he says he's displayed no signs of being possessed in any way by that thing, much to the fury of his superior officers. I think they wanted him as some kind of Guinea pig to bridge the gap between here, and there. By there I mean the upside down, not there as in Russia..."

Despite everything Joyce wants to smile, she's missed Murray. Things are good out here, quiet. The kids are settling. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss Hawkins. The Hawkins before all of this. 

"What do we do? Where is he going to go? I don't think we can send him back to Hawkins, he's just a kid he'll never handle it." Joyce racks her brains assessing the merits of bringing a kid she's never had anything to do with all the way out here, and potentially harbouring three possessed teenagers under one roof. 

"Where is who going to go?" El's unmistakable voice pipes up from behind Joyce, making her jump. 

"Murray I've gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow. At, uh, at 10am sharp." She puts the phone in the cradle much slower than necessary, biding valuable seconds before she turns to face El.

"How much did you hear? Let me fix you some cocoa, it's late, you really should be sleeping." Joyce babbles as she busies herself sloshing milk into a saucepan with the powdered cocoa.

"No secrets..." El begins, giving Joyce one of her most skeptical faces.

"No, honey. No secrets." Joyce sighs. "They've found Billy." El's eyes widen. They stand in silence for a beat too long and Joyce hears the unmistakable hiss of the cocoa burning to the bottom of the pan. "Shoot!" She exclaims, snatching it from the stove and pouring hastily into two waiting mugs. 

"Can it be me, that calls Max?" El asks in a voice that's equal parts trepidation and excitement.


	7. I'm on my way, driving at ninety

Steve was absolutely exhausted. Weariness dragged in his bones, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool. It had been a bad couple days. The nightmares were more vivid than they'd been lately, and Steve had no idea what to do to make it stop. Drinking didn't help. Smoking weed didn't help. Crying in the dark until his entire chest hurt and his tears ran dry, passing out from sheer emotional exhaustion didn't help. He would still wake up dripping with sweat, grasping at his sheets as if bound by the vines of the hell tunnels below. Demogorgans, slime, car crashes, beat downs, the sheer gut wrenching never ending terror. 

He wants to sleep so badly, his body is wrung out and his dark humour will only see him through so far before someone realises he's completely falling apart. To be honest he's a little sore that no one has noticed before now. He's keeping his shit together by a thread, and no one has tried to really scratch the surface of how he's feeling beyond that fucking weird conversation with his Mom by the lake. 

That nap in the car marked the last sleep he had that didn't ravage him from the inside out. He wants nothing more than to collapse into his bed for a nice early night like his body so desperately needs. Instead he drags himself to the kitchen to wallow with a snack. Extra time in bed is just extra trauma these days. 

Steve is startled by the phone in the kitchen as he smushes peanut butter unceremoniously onto bread. No one ever calls, especially at this hour. It's almost 10pm, not exactly an ungodly hour but still. 

"Harrington" he says down the receiver, taking a hefty bite of his sandwich. 

"Steve?" He's pretty sure it's Max, but that makes no sense. Why would Max be calling him? 

"Steve?" She asks again, and he realises he didn't respond the first time, and that it is definitely Max. 

"Yeah, yeah Max it's me, what's up why are you calling me?" He doesn't mean it to come out like it does, his brain just seems to have short circuited. He hasn't seen or heard from Max since the night at Starcourt. One step too close to Billy, he had intentionally avoided anything to do with her ever since. 

"I need your help. To get to Illinois." There is a long ass pause on the line. "It's Billy. He's alive." 

Steve's sandwich lays abandoned on the counter, slammed down in haste as he told Max to get a bag together and sneak out, he'd pick her up on the corner of Cherry in half an hour.

Running to his room to throw a bag of his own together it was like he was running on autopilot. His body took control of the situation with total practicality, he needed clothes, a warm blanket for Max in the car and his credit card. He'd need to fill up with gas on the way out of town. Mountain dew, Pepsi and snacks would be a good idea too. A map, fuck he'd need a map. 

***

Most of the journey is made up of awkward silence. Max gave out occasional directions from her blanket cocoon in the back seat, neither tried to make small talk. Eventually, Steve needs to know. 

"Why did you call me, Max? I know there's shit with your dad and all but why me?" 

"Billy told you about his dad?" It's not what Steve expected her to say. She sounds intrigued, supposes he can't blame her. Besides being civil to each other in the wake of the beat down in the Byers, you could forgive folk for thinking that Billy and Steve had nothing much to do with each other. 

"A little. Why did you call me?" Steve isn't going to let it go. He supposes it could be as simple as him being the only one Max knows with a car that she trusts well enough to drive her hundreds of miles to a guy who is long thought dead. Yeah, that's probably it. Fuck, he's such an ass. 

"He'd want to see you. Will. Will want to see you. You were the closest thing he had to any kind of friend back in Hawkins. Even if you didn't think so." 

That stung Steve, the cold feeling that he'd betrayed Billy in some way creeping through his veins once again.


	8. You're still alive she said, oh do I deserve to be?

Steve isn't sure what he expects to find at this house they're travelling to, but the tall middle aged guy with glasses and out of control curly hair isn't it. 

It's the early hours of the morning, unsurprisingly he had been reluctant to open the door until Max told him she was Billy's sister. There is no sign of Billy as they step into the living room, however another large man emerges with mugs of coffee on an old plastic tray. Steve is still pretty wired from the near continuous bottles of mountain dew he ploughed on the ride, but he also hasn't slept so accepts the coffee gratefully. 

"I am Nikolai" the second man offers. "Friend of Mr Bauman, I am the one who found your brother alive. I looked after him at the facility in Russia." He offers the information to both Max and Steve together, prompting Steve to point out that Billy isn't his brother. 

"I see, so why are you here?" He asks, not unkindly but with notable confusion in his tone. 

Steve isn't sure how to answer, so opts to take a long drink in the hope of being let off the hook. Another inquisitive Russian. Fanfuckingtastic. 

"Where's Billy?" Max asks no one in particular, her leg is jiggling with nerves and she leans forward on the battered couch, tension palpable in the air around her. 

"I thought he should rest, he's had a rough time kid. We didn't know you were coming so soon or I'd have warned him." Murray's tone is gentle but it does nothing to placate Max. Steve can't blame her, he's anxious as hell. 12 hours ago Billy was dead, and now they're on a couch in Illinois being served coffee by another *fucking* Russian. 

"I think I should wake him." Nikolai says after several minutes of awkward silence. "He is fragile. Coming out, seeing you, with no warning, I don't know how he will handle it. He does not to me seem to be good with surprise?" Steve nods at him, seeing his out. "I think you're right, listen I'll get out the way. You go tell him Max is here, I'll be in my car if anyone needs me." Steve steps off the couch to leave, only for Max to grab his hand and pull him back down, her eyes pleading. 

"Don't-" she starts, barely more than a whisper. "Don't leave him." _Again_ his mind interjects helpfully just to twist the knife. 

If Steve didn't know better, he'd swear looking into Max's eyes that she knows more than she's letting on but this is so far from the time and place to unpack that shit so he merely nods and squeezes her hand. 

***

Billy isn't a heavy sleeper, years of being turfed out of his bed for beatings in the night had seen to that. The vodka had helped though, so it took a few rounds of rapping on the door to wake him. For a minute he forgot he wasn't still in his tiny Russian hell, his vodka and trauma addled brain working hard to put the pieces together of where the fuck he actually is. 

Nikolai approaches the bed with a mug of coffee, Billy calms his breathing and takes it, not sure it was worth the effort of sitting up when he's rewarded with the fuzzy pain in his head marking the beginnings of a hangover. 

"How do you feel?" Nikolai asks as Billy winces and chugs down a few gulps of coffee with desperate thirst. 

"Like shit." Billy closes his eyes and let's his head flop back against the head board, his breathing still uneasy. 

"I have important news. We have someone. Someone's, actually. Here for you." 

Billy's eyes shoot open and Nikolai registers the panic in them. 

"No do not be frightened, it is OK. Murray and I have found some clean clothes, they will be not well fitting but they are clean." He gestures at the folded outfit on the foot of the bed. Billy still looks weak. Nikolai had done what he could to protect Billy from alot of the more violent tests and exertions at the facility, but that time he was gone saw the fellow guards push Billy even harder in his absence. "Do you need help?" 

Billy shakes his head no, immediately regrets it when it feels as though his brain ricochets against the sides of his skull. 

Steve knows Billy is approaching, he can hear the shuffling of his steps. He reaches across for Max's hand again, grips it tightly. He's not sure if it's for her benefit or his own. 

The disbelieving relief that Billy is in fact alive and standing before him takes precedence over everything else. It takes a few beats to register that his head has been shaved. He looks so small, swamped in Murray's much too big clothes. His eyes are rimmed with red, they dart between Steve and Max and Steve can tell he's not sure he believes what he's seeing before him either. 

"Billy?" Max calls out weakly, her face crumpling with emotion. Steve gives her hand a squeeze and let's her go, she approaches Billy like he's a scared animal, reaches out gently not sure how he's going to react. Billy wraps his arms around her with such desperation that Steve's not sure how they manage to stay on their feet. His arms cling tightly to her back, hands lost in the long sleeves of the sweater, making him look like a traumatised child. Billy doesn't make a sound but the sobs racking his body are painfully evident as he buries his face in Max's hair. 

Steve looks to Murray and Nikolai for that out, feeling like he's getting in the way, only to see that they've already made themselves scarce. Shit, fuck. He can't do this. He can feel his own tears threatening to build and he's got no one to cling to. Why does he deserve to cry, what right has he got? He chastises himself. This is Billy's pain. Max's pain. Steve left him, he has _no right_. He shouldn't be here. He jumps from the couch and bolts, heading for the safe solitude of his car. 

Billy isn't sure how long he clings to Max and sobs, he's not sure it'll ever be long enough. 

"H... how did you find me?" Billy gets out around sniffs as he tries to get himself under control after finally letting her free of his grasp. He looks to the couch wondering if they should sit, and realises Steve is gone. He didn't know how to deal with Steve being here with Max, it was all too much. Of all the people he thought might have been out here he had never let himself hope Steve might be one of them. He didn't dare let himself think of Steve at all anymore if he could help it, it just hurt too bad. 

"Murray called Mrs Byers, and then El - do you remember El?" Billy winced. How could he forget her. "She called me, I called Steve right away and we drove straight to you." Max turns, now herself noticing Steve has gone. 

"I told him to stay!" Max rolls her eyes. "What happens now, what do we do? I don't know what to do." She babbles. 

Billy let's out a long breath. "Makes two of us. I wasn't sure I'd ever be back here. I mean here in the real world not here in Illinois. " He tries to laugh around another course of tears on the brink of falling. 

"Hey it's OK, we're gonna figure this out OK Billy?" Max soothes, looking him right in the eyes, overwhelmingly grateful that this time there's only Billy in there looking back. "Do you, I dunno, maybe think you should go and see Steve? Ten bucks says he's hiding in his car." 

"How did you..." Billy swallows. "How did you know to bring Steve?" 

Max shrugs. "Intuition?" She offers a forced grin knowing he won't buy that shit. Billy shoves her shoulder playfully. She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and passes him the badge from the Camaro. She hadn't packed much in the bag she threw together before jumping in Steve's car, but the badge was the first thing she picked up. Billy played with it between his fingers, the much too long sleeves creased up over his wrists. "You saved this?" Max nods. "I wanted to save the whole car, Neil said no fucking way. I had to break into the junk yard and steal this." Billy lets out a little huff of a laugh. "With Paulo? I'm impressed. Doesn't answer why you brought Steve out here." 

"I found some stuff. Don't be mad. I was clearing out your room before Neil and Susan could get to it. I swear I wasn't prying. And then when I went to the junk yard, I found this note in your glove compartment, and I sort of put some pieces together and I know I could be wrong about it all but I don't think I am-" Max babbles. Billy stays silent for a while. 

"You're wrong." He eventually says quietly. 

"No, no way! But what abou-" Max begins to protest. 

"Max," Billy interrupts "there was a time, I thought so too. But now. Now, you're wrong." There's a resigned sadness in Billy's voice that Max hadn't expected. 

"But the note, I went through your smashed up window to get that note why would you keep it if I'm wrong?" There's a desperation in her own voice that she hadn't expected either. 

"Because I'm a loser?" Billy tries to laugh it off, eyes fixed at a point across the room, ardently not looking at Max. "You're right, OK. About me. You're right about me." It looks like it causes Billy physical pain to say it. "But Steve? Not so much. That smashed up window you reached through to get my sad little note? That was Steve. Did it when he smashed a car straight into me that night. Ironic in a kind of tragic way isn't it? I mean I don't blame him. For anything. Why would he want me? I'm a fucking mess. And that night he probably should've killed me. I could've just bled out sat there with my sad little fucking note that I clung to like some kind of shred of hope I didn't deserve." Billy swallows his tears and nods his head resolutely. "He... He should've killed me." Billy sniffs and heads for the kitchen and, despite it still being very much early morning, no doubt the vodka.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve isn't surprised by the knocking on the car window behind his head. He is surprised when he looks up to see the Russian. He hates himself a little more for the fear he immediately feels strike at the sight of him, tries to remind himself that this particular giant Russian wasn't going to torture him. He'd helped Billy. He'd gotten Billy back here, somehow. Smaller, balder and alot more fearful than the old Billy, but he was here. 

Working to wind the window down, Steve tries to put on a friendly face. 

"What's up, man?" _Was that too informal? Did he notice the hitch in my voice?_ Steve immediately worries. 

"I think you should be inside. You did not come all this way to hide. Remember whatever it was that made you drive all night to get to him, and go and talk. Be thankful that you get the chance." Nikolai taps the roof of the car a couple times and strides back toward the house. Steve's head flops back against the head rest dramatically. The pep talk was short and to the point but Steve though he knows he's right. Fuck, why is this all so hard? 

Billy should probably be pissed that Murray has locked away the vodka but in the back of his mind he can see why the guy has. He's on the couch next to Max cradling a fresh cup of coffee when Steve finally gets the balls to go back inside. Murray and Nikolai are nowhere to be seen, presumably occupying themselves out of sight to give Billy and Max some space. 

Max all but leaps from the couch when Steve steps inside. 

"I'm just going to the bathroom." She blurts, giving Steve a meaningful glare as she passes him by. Billy doesn't look up from his drink, and Steve takes the time to really look at him. Supposes it's bad taste to tell him the skinhead look isn't half bad. 

"I'm sorry" the words fall from his mouth before he even thinks about stopping them. "I don't even know where to start but I have to just... I have to get that out there. I am... So fucking sorry." Steve notes the sad way Billy flinches from the words, hates that he's causing him yet more pain. 

"S'ok. You did what you had to. I'm a monster, no one can blame you for trying to take me out." The words are slow, measured. Billy still won't look up to meet Steve's eyes. 

"I don't just mean that. I mean yes of course, I'm really fucking sorry for... That. I was on some crazy ass drug, I'd been interrogated and in my tunnel vision all I could see was that I needed to save the kids. As far as we knew, you - the real you, was long gone. We should have tried. We all should have tried _harder_ to help you." Steve is babbling, now he'd started talking the words just keep coming. 

"But I don't just mean that night I mean everything. I know, that night you were going to meet Mrs Wheeler. She told Nancy. I'm not stupid enough to believe its a coincidence. You kiss me and then literally fucking run away? I shouldn't have left you that note, it was too much I don't know what I was thinking. It's all my fucking fault, if I'd just been a better fucking person you I would've been able to stop you running into the arms of Karen fucking Wheeler. You never would have been on that road. All of this, every single fucking bit of it. It all comes back to me." 

Billy finally looks up, only for a second. 

"What do you want me to do here, Harrington? Tell you it IS all your fault? Blame you? Hate you? You gonna take all that blame for all those innocent fucking people I lead to their deaths like some mutated pied piper? That all your fault too?" Steve squeezes his eyes shut, he can tell from the crack in Billy's voice that he's about to start crying and he can't bring himself to look. 

"Billy please -" at a loss of a better idea he tries to go for gentle humour. "Come on man, Max is gonna kill me if she comes out here and sees I've made you cry." 

Despite himself Billy does let out a tiny snort of a half laugh. 

"Not exactly hard, Harrington." 

Steve approaches the couch gingerly, half expecting Billy to tell him to leave him the fuck alone. He sits down beside him and cautiously places a hand on Billy's back to offer some semblance of comfort. 

"You gonna make a move pretty boy? Pathetic desperation what gets you going? No wonder you let me kiss you." Billy isn't exactly hysterical, but the slow silent tears still roll down his face as he tries to force out a laugh at his own expense. 

Steve badly wants to protest, that he hadn't just _let_ Billy kiss him. That he'd wanted it just as much as Billy had - that Billy wasn't some pathetic mess. Before he can find the words or the gumption, Max bounds back in to the living room. Billy jumps from the couch like he'd been caught red handed doing something heinous. To her credit Max doesn't make a point of bringing it up, instead being the one to press forward with what the hell is actually going to happen now. 

"I mean, these guys seem great for saving you and all but I don't think you should live out here. Like, forever." 

"Where am I gonna go Max? I don't belong anywhere, I've got nothing and no one." 

"Hey asshole you have me!" Max protests. It's oddly endearing how quickly Max has gotten back into the groove of treating Billy like he's just the same old asshole older brother he always was. 

"You know that's not what I meant. I need a place to live, money, clothes all that shit. Oh yeah and let's not forget an identity that isn't dead." Billy folds his arms, barely just the tips of his fingers visible out of the long sleeves.

The beginnings of an idea were sprouting in Steve's head, but it was probably crazy and Billy probably wouldn't go for it in a million years, but fuck it what has he got to lose? They aren't exactly inundated with options here. 

"Come home with me." He blurts. Billy and Max both give him the wide eyes. Before they get a chance to shoot him down or ask if he's high, he carries on. "Just for a few days, you can be close to Max, eat some good food and get some rest. We can figure out where you go from there. I'm guessing you probably don't wanna stay in Hawkins long term..."

After a minute Billy starts "I don't know-" he rubs a hand over his fuzzy head. It's still jarring to him. It's grown a little over the time he's been gone but it's still short as shit. He hasn't had a buzz cut since he was fifteen when Neil added his long curls to his ever growing list of shit that made Billy a fag. At sixteen, he'd broken Billy's clavicle on a particularly bad Saturday night. Billy's bargained for freedom over his hair in exchange for lying to the doctors in the emergency room about what had happened. Billy hadn't cut his hair since, it was his own little way of kidding himself he had some kind of control over his own body and life. 

"Come on Billy." Max coaxed with a gentleness Steve wasn't aware she possessed. "What choice do you really have?" 

"Jeez Max when you put it like that how can he ever resist?" Steve knows he sounds pissy, he can't help it. A tiny part of him hoped Billy would want to stay with him, not just settle reluctantly because he has literally no other options. A few moments pass and Billy doesn't manage to come up with an argument or better idea. Steve claps his hands to his knees and stands from the couch. "I'll go tell Billy's new dads the good news." He mutters on his way to the back yard in search of Murray and Nikolai. 

***

Steve had wanted to get straight on the road but was told absolutely fucking not by Murray. He was so used to not sleeping much it hadn't really registered that he would be doing 2 mammoth journeys over hundreds of miles in the space of a day on zero sleep. It was only noon but he had promised to try and take a nap and they'd leave at nightfall. Murray had been surprisingly keen, turned out he was planning on leaving town himself now that he had solved the problem of Billy. Or at least handed over the problem to Steve. The plan was for everyone to be gone one way or another before sundown. Murray was busying himself packing obscure things into his car. The giant being one of them, both men having decided it wasn't safe for him to try and go it alone. 

Steve could hear the muffled tones of Billy and Max talking. He couldn't make out what they were saying but he imagined they have a hell of a lot to catch up on. It was oddly soothing knowing they were just on the other side of the thin wall, and in spite of himself he drifted into a mercifully empty slumber. 

He was surprised to wake, absolutely no idea what time it was or initially where he even was. Realising it was now dark, for a fleeting moment he panicked thinking he'd been abandoned out here. Pulling the bedroom door open with more force than was strictly rational, he was proven to be mistaken as four faces turned to look at him. 

"Sleeping beauty!" Murray booms. "I was just about to come in there and slap you awake. Everyone ready? It's go time."


	10. Chapter 10

If Steve thought the drive into Illinois was awkward, the drive home was whole other level. Max insisted on navigating again owing to the fact she'd managed on the way up there, and fuck the fact Billy is older and can drive. Billy had mostly been silent besides asking Max to pass him and Steve mountain dews from the back seat.

He went visibly rigid with tension as they rolled past the Welcome to Hawkins sign. It was late, and it had been agreed that the best thing for Max was to go home so Susan at least knew she was safe, and make up some bullshit about running away because she was overcome with the loss of her brother. No one needs to know that he's alive, it was dangerous and honestly even if it wasn't Billy didn't think he could face people.

Steve hadn't really given much of a plan, basically told Billy to trust him to take care of it. No easy feat considering the last interaction they had before tonight was in the Starcourt parking lot.

Steve wrings his hands around the steering wheel awkwardly, as if sensing the unspoken doubts Billy was trying to block out of his own head. They're only a couple of minutes away from the Hargrove house and Billy gets more and more on edge with every yard they drive. Steve's nervous for Max to get out of the car, leaving the two of them alone but she's barely spoken for hours anyhow. Her map reading skills mostly done for the ride, she'd slept almost the whole way down the I-70. Everyone still unsure of themselves in this situation they've been found in. Billy had never been big on talking about shit, especially anything that implied feelings of any kind. Steve supposes it'll be even more the case now. 

Max climbs out of the car reluctantly as they pull up on the block by their house. Her house. Billy stares into his lap, unable to face saying goodbye even though Max was currently swearing that she would sneak out tomorrow and find them at Steve's. Billy can't shake the feeling that it's too easy, something is bound to pull the rug from under him the second he let's himself believe things are going to be OK. 

Steve is relieved to see that his mom's car is missing when he pulls up at home. He lolls his head back against the seat as he puts the car in park, letting his eyes fall shut. Billy fights the urge to look at him, pick, pick, picking at the skin of his fingers again. They're almost raw but he can't stop himself, he needs something to pour his attention into, to ground him in the real world before he falls back into the hell inside of his head. 

"I can't imagine what you're thinking right now." Steve starts with a deep sigh. "I'm not gonna pretend I know what to do or say, this shit is crazy to me too. I don't expect you to want to talk to me, but uh..." Billy's eyes clench shut with the effort to not look at Steve as he speaks. "uhm, yeah if you do..." Steve carries on. "You know, I'll be here." Steve looks to Billy, curled in on himself in the passenger seat, leg jiggling a hundred miles an hour and the rhythmic click clicking of his nails picking at flesh. Billy gives a slow tight nod and reaches for the handle of his door in such an unexpectedly quick motion Steve's convinced he's going to leap from the car and bolt. 

Steve jumps out right behind him and practically runs around the hood of the car and into Billy, stopping himself short when he realises Billy isn't actually going anywhere, head bowed staring at his feet, still dragging around those big ass boots. 

Steve reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a pack of smokes. Nipping one between his lips he offers the packet to Billy, he does the decent thing and doesn't acknowledge the shake in Billy's hand as he grabs one and the clipper lighter. 

"Follow me, we can smoke inside my mom won't give a shit." Steve leads the way to his fancy front door. Billy can remember seeing it, that night way back in June - he'd driven by it a half dozen times trying to work up the courage to actually get out of the car. The heavy boots drag along the ground like those of a petulant child, Billy wishes he could summon the effort to get his shit together but no matter how much of a weak ass bitch his brain tells him he's being, his body won't comply. 

Steve kicks his shoes off inside the door. "I'll go get us some beers, you get those giant fucking boots off and we can find you some clothes that might fit." Steve mutters around his cigarette. The burning smoke filling his lungs acting as a tether into the world of something familiar. Everything looks just as it had when he'd left, it was home it should be comforting. Only now, Billy fucking Hargrove was hiding in the shadows, and not just of his nightmares. In the actual fucking shadow by the front door. We might need something stronger than beer he thinks to himself, detouring to his father's liquor cabinet instead of the fridge. 

He heads back to the door, pleased to see that at least Billy has removed the boots - laces tucked away inside neatly and placed against the wall, but Billy is planted to the same spot he'd occupied before, the dwindling remnants of his own cigarette burning away between his fingers. 

Steve stops himself heading to Billy and trying to physically coax him around the house, sure that coddling him will probably make the guy feel ten times worse. Instead he heads for the stairs, his dad's most lavish scotch hanging lazily from his hand. 

"You gonna help me drink this or what?" He calls down, when he realises Billy isn't going to just follow him uninvited. "If not, continue your dramatic reenactment of a potted ficus, by all means." 

He's not sure if Billy let's out a tiny snort of laughter at that or if it's wishful thinking, but it gets him moving so Steve takes it as a win. 

Billy follows quietly, unable to stop his heart doing an infuriating quickening as Steve leads the way into his bedroom. He throws the unopened bottle of scotch onto the bed and moves to start rifling through his drawers for clothes. He bundles two separate piles together - one for Billy and one for himself.

"There's clean towels in the bathroom, I'll use the shower in the guest bath if you wanna take the tub. It's some big ass jacuzzi thing, bet it's been a long time since you've had a proper soak in a bath." Steve muses. It's funny the little comforts you don't think about doing without until they're not there.

Billy takes the bundle of clothes from Steve and mutters. "Since I was a kid."

"What? Why? Is it a California thing?" Steve is visibly perplexed. 

"Nah, more a hard-ass-dad thing." Billy retorts. 

"Seriously? He wouldn't let you take a fucking bath?" 

A sad smirk appears on Billy's face. "Didn't you know Harrington?" Billy leans closer and drops his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "Baths are for females and fairies."

Steve doesn't get the chance to think up whether he should respond with something funny, or try and give Billy some kind of pep talk about how his dad wasn't just a hard ass, he's a straight up whack job - Billy is already heading for the bathroom. 

Steve chucks his own bundle of clothes on the bed and heads for the shower, musing to himself about how one way of getting washed could possibly be more manly than another. His own dad was a piece of work, but at least he only ever needled Steve in a way that could be construed as deep down wanting what was best for him. Pushing him to try and do well at school, lauding the benefits of working a so called decent job rather than something menial like scooping ice cream. Yeah he had plenty of moments of making Steve feel downright shitty, but at least he didn't treat Steve like there was something inherently wrong with him at every given opportunity. 

He makes quick work of getting clean, the rush of hot water cascading down his body helps loosen the knots he's carrying from the past couple of days but the desire to start drinking outweighs the benefits of staying under the water fall any longer. 

It's probably not the classy thing to do - pull on cosy sweats and sip 25 year old oak cask scotch straight from the bottle in bed, but there's no one here about to judge him so fuck it. 

He's lucky to have a TV and VHS player in his room, he knows. He has no idea how long to expect Billy to be in the bath, whenever he does emerge Steve's sure a film will help diffuse the atmosphere and keep any overly awkward silence at bay. He opts for something light hearted in a bid to not evoke any kind of fear in Billy. It had taken himself longer than he'd ever care to admit to watch horror films after his first run in with the upside down, and he'd barely experienced a fucking fraction of what Billy had. 

By the time Billy emerges, Steve has a decent buzz on, Caddyshack is half finished and Steve's mom has called home to check in on Steve, having decided to head back to Seattle to surprise his dad when Steve took off for the weekend. It was lucky she'd finally caught him, she hadn't been sure what day he was heading home but called just incase. After reassuring her that he's fine and doesn't need her to come home any time soon, Steve hangs up and calls out for pizza. Fuck knows how long it's been since Billy has eaten properly. 

Steve quietly padded back to his room, excited for a decent meal himself. OK, takeout pizza isn't exactly a gourmet meal but still. Beats the jerky, chips and candy bars from the past two days. He hadn't realised Billy was out of the bath until he leapt up from where he'd been perched on the foot of Steve's bed. 

"Woah hey chill out man, sit back down." Steve says. Billy looks embarrassed as hell, Steve can't tell if it's because he felt like he'd crossed some ridiculous line by being on Steve's bed, or that he'd jumped like a startled deer when Steve had appeared. 

Steve climbs back on to his bed, lounging lazily against his generous pile of pillows and hands the bottle to Billy who accepts it gingerly, still refusing to meet Steve's eyes. 

"I know it's weird, all of this is fucked up, but you've gotta try and chill out or you're gonna go crazy. Just get on the bed, drink, and pretend like we're just regular nineteen year old guys. For tonight, at least. Deal?" 

Billy takes a generous pull of the scotch, it burns on the way down but at least it doesn't taste like paint stripper in the way vodka does. 

"I'm eighteen." Is all he says as he tentatively perches back on the very edge of the bed, his attention drawn to the TV for the first time. 

Steve watches him wordlessly, the time passing quicker than he expected with the movie as a distraction. He smiles to himself when Billy let's out a quiet laugh at the movie, uses it as an opportunity to break the silence between them. "Hey" he starts after a beat. "You like pepperoni pizza, right? I just assumed I mean, I didn't think you'd want me barging in on you in the bathroom to take a pizza order and really, who doesn't like pepperoni?" Steve is babbling, he does that alot. Movie or not, silence still makes him uneasy. 

"I hate pepperoni." Billy sighs without turning to face Steve. 

"Oh shit, for real? If I call quickly I can probably order you something different how long has it been since I -" Steve is already rolling off the bed to head to the kitchen. 

"Chill it Harrington, I'm kidding." Billy says. "I forgot how much fun it is to fuck with you." He looks up then and gives Steve a look of mirth. 

"Oh yeah, did you miss me?" Steve retorts and immediately regrets it the instant Billy's face hardens. "Sorry pretend I didn't say that, that was insensitive as shit." Luckily for Steve the doorbell chimes. He bolts out the door faster than is strictly necessary. 

"Harrington!" Tommy bellows as Steve opens the door for the pizza. "You high or something? This is one big ass pizza for someone eating alone." 

"Ha fucking ha, how do you know I'm alone?" Steve huffs with exasperation as he shoves the cash into Tommy's hand. "Keep the change, not that you deserve it for being an asshole." 

"Ah you love me really Stevey boy, adios!" Tommy chuckles as he heads back to his clapped out minivan. Adios? Was _tommy_ high? Fucking probably. Steve flipped all of the locks and swung by the kitchen to grab a huge bottle of Pepsi. Scotch and pizza isn't really a winning mix. 

He's relieved to see that Billy has settled onto the bed properly when he shuffles back into his room. The distinctly meagre amount of scotch left in the bottle probably helped with that one. 

"You cool with drinking from the bottle? I couldn't juggle glasses too." Steve flopped down on the bed beside Billy, the Pepsi wedged between them as he opens out the pizza box. 

"Little late to be worried about that isn't it?" Billy's eyes have taken on a hooded look, Steve hadn't noticed just how tired he looked before. 

"Touché." 

Steve let's himself get back into the movie while they eat rather than try and coerce Billy into any small talk. It's not until the credits start to roll that he looks over and realises Billy's fallen asleep, cradling the scotch in the nook of his arm. Steve moves the pizza box and Pepsi from the bed, and gets up to put a new video on. He's not really sure what to do about Billy. Waking him and sending him to a guest room alone seems mean, but he doesn't want to freak him out by sleeping right next to him. Though wouldn't leaving him all alone and going to sleep in the guest room freak him out more? Given the three options, Steve would be lying if the thought of having someone here while he sleeps wasn't kind of comforting. 

He scoots under the covers, careful not to disturb Billy laying on top. Given his well acquainted relationship with insomnia he doesn't expect to fall asleep as quickly as he does. 

It's pitch black in the room when he wakes with a jump. It takes a second for him to remember that the thing in his bed isn't a monster, his breathing heavy and uneven in the still silence of the room. He reaches over to check the plastic nemesis that is his bedside clock. 2:19am. Far too early to even attempt to get up for the day. 

"You too?" Billy's voice is a tiny whisper and it almost has Steve jumping again. 

"Nightmares? Oh yeah, big time. You been awake long?" Steve responds into the darkness. 

"I don't think so. I think you woke me. Its weird, I don't think I dreamt at all. You some kind of talisman, Harrington?" 

"Are you calling me, like, a human dream catcher?" Steve couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of what Billy was saying, he must still be drunk. "C'mon, let's go back to sleep. See if I can work my magic again." Steve flips onto his side and pulls the covers up around his shoulders. A second later he feels Billy shuffle underneath them too. Sadly, his nightmare repelling ability is proven to be short lived, when Billy starts screaming in his sleep less than an hour later.

"Hey, hey, hey you're OK. Billy, look at me. You're good, man, it's OK." Steve jiggles Billy awake with a hand on his shoulder, uttering whatever platitudes of reassurance spill from his mouth. Billy sits up with a start, eyes wide and panicked staring straight through Steve. 

Steve continues to mutter his reassurances as he stumbles out of bed and across the dark room to switch on his light. The adrenaline coursing through his veins at being woken by a scream tells him there is absolutely no hope of him going back to sleep now. 

"I need coffee. You coming?" He glances to Billy, who is still breathing laboriously on the bed, eyes cast downward as he tries to get a grip on himself. 

Billy doesn't respond and Steve doesn't push it, but he makes him a cup alongside his own anyhow. The gravity of the situation ahead of them started creeping back into Steve's mind; Billy had successfully survived his first night back in Hawkins - now what?


End file.
